


Forgot

by nightrose



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Aftercare, Angst, Blindfolds, Communication Failure, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-24
Updated: 2013-06-24
Packaged: 2017-12-16 00:10:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/855574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightrose/pseuds/nightrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire forgets the safeword.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forgot

Grantaire is bound hand and foot to the bed. He stays still, shaking just a little as Enjolras strokes a strong hand down his naked back.

“Are you going to be a good boy for me?” Enjolras asks.

“Yes, sir.”

“And do you trust me?”

“With everything.”

Enjolras smiles fondly down at him and drops a kiss onto the back of his neck. “Good.” He pulls off his cravat and wraps it gently around Grantaire’s head, blindfolding him. It isn’t tight enough to be painful, but Grantaire can’t see a thing. Enjolras’ hand tightens in Grantaire’s hair, pushing his head to one side, and he crushes his lips against Grantaire’s. It’s an awkward angle, but it still feels very, very good. Grantaire moans as Enjolras kisses him, his whole body relaxing in total submission. Enjolras bites his lip and pets his hair, and then suddenly his hands and mouth are gone.

Grantaire tenses back up as soon as Enjolras is gone. He hears footsteps. Enjolras is leaving him. Leaving the room. He doesn’t know why.

Almost instantly, his stomach drops in panic. He must have done something wrong. Enjolras is disappointed or angry or… something.

Probably angry. Grantaire doesn’t know what he’s done wrong but he remembers Enjolras saying that he’d never hit Grantaire in anger, and he must be taking a moment to calm down before he comes back and delivers Grantaire’s punishment. Or something.

It occurs to Grantaire that he hasn’t been ordered to stay silent, so tentatively he calls out Enjolras’ name. 

There’s no answer.

He’s gone. He’s really gone. He’s left Grantaire here, tied up and helpless, brain foggy with subspace. And Enjolras is gone.

Grantaire tugs at the ropes binding his wrists, and nothing moves. He’s well and truly bound—there will be no getting out. He’s here until Enjolras comes back.

Do you trust me, Enjolras had asked. 

And Grantaire does. He does. He can be good and trust Enjolras to come back. Enjolras will. He’ll come back and he’ll take care of Grantaire. He always does.

It’s going to be all right. It’s going to be fine. 

Grantaire focuses on breathing, nice and calm. He lasts a few minutes, by his estimation, before his heart rate starts to pick up again and suddenly he feels like he can’t breathe, his chest is heavy and the pillows are smothering him and he’s blind and the bonds are so heavy he can’t do this he can’t—“Enjolras!” he calls again. There’s still no answer. “Please. Please,” this time it’s almost a sob, his voice breaking, and suddenly he feels something, a crack of pain against his back, maybe a whip and maybe Enjolras’ belt, but it’s something. Enjolras is here, must not have even left in the first place, and it’s all right. It is.

Except that the pain is so bad, and it still isn’t Enjolras’ hand on him, isn’t what he needs.

Enjolras brings it down again, whatever the object is, and it lands even harder and it’s too much because he’s bound and blind and all he can feel, all he knows, is the pain. He’s so tense and afraid from being, as he thought, left, that it’s much worse than it normally would have been.

He wants it to stop. He knows Enjolras won’t be mad. That whatever he’s being punished for will be forgiven, and Enjolras will stop and untie him and take him into his arms and hold him close and tell him he’s good.

That’s all he wants. That sweet, perfect comfort.

Except he can’t remember the word.

He knows there is one, can remember settling on a safeword to try. Before it had just been ‘no’ or ‘stop’ but Grantaire had wanted to try out a little resistance play. Had wanted to be pushed past what he could take without protesting, into the kind of pain- this kind of pain- that forces such protests from his mouth.

But he can’t remember the safeword.

“Stop,” he sobs, begging. “Please, Enjolras, please, stop!” 

The whip comes down again, and again, merciless and hard. And Enjolras is still silent, still not saying a word. He isn’t even breathing hard enough for Grantaire to recognize the familiar rhythm of his breath, and he certainly doesn’t reach out to touch Grantaire with the comforting hand that might make all the difference.

“Stop,” Grantaire begs. “Sir, please, please—“ The whip criss-crosses across his back, laying down two lines of fire against his skin, and Grantaire gasps out, “No, no—“

What’s the word? He can’t remember the word. 

God, he’s so stupid. He’s fucking this up. Enjolras is going to be so mad at him when he realizes. He’d never want Grantaire to do this, to take more than he can, to let himself be hurt so badly.

But Grantaire doesn’t know how to make it stop. He’s weeping softly into the blindfold, screaming with every time the whip lands on his back. It hurts too badly for him to try and struggle, to even say a word. 

There’s a pause, and Grantaire tries to get his thoughts collected enough to speak. “Sir, stop, please-“

The whip lands again and again. Grantaire’s tears are stinging in his eyes, unable to escape the blindfold.

“I just—I can’t, I can’t do th—“ He swallows the sound as the whip darts up to hit his shoulders. “It hurts too much. Please. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I don’t know what I did wrong, I’m sorry. Please stop. Please.”

And again and again it lands, until Grantaire’s pain becomes more pressing than his exhaustion and he has to fight the bonds.

He struggles as hard as he can but there’s no stopping. Just more pain, hot lashes on his back, so intense he cries out with every one. “Sir!” he says, gasping out one word at a time. “I can’t… can’t… fuck, I can’t… I can’t remember! Stop. Stop, please, I want you to, I can’t think of the word, I can’t—“

Grantaire hears the sound of the whip clattering to the floor, and suddenly Enjolras’ hands are on him, his blessedly cool fingers undoing the blindfold. Grantaire blinks and there Enjolras is, his face full of concern, his cheeks flushed with the effort of weilding the whip. “Grantaire. Oh my God. Are you all right?”

“Sorry,” Grantaire slurs, leaning in to the touch as Enjolras caresses his face.

“Why are you apologizing? Sweetheart, you didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I forgot the safeword. I forgot. I’m sorry. It’s important.”

Enjolras unties his wrists, and then his ankles, rubbing away the soreness in each. “I’m sorry. I’m the one who’s sorry, and I’m so sorry. Grantaire, I—I had no idea. You were really trying to get me to stop, and I just kept…” 

“Please, Enjolras, don’t.”

“I’m… I can’t…”

“At least come here and hold me before you start angsting?”

Enjolras lets out a bitter laugh. “Of course,” he says, voice gentle, and helps Grantaire into his arms, carefully avoiding the marks on his back. “Can you tell me where I went wrong? What did I do that was… that was too much? You don’t have to answer now.”

“I… I didn’t like not being sure if you were there. And then it hurt so much more when you were whipping me, cause I couldn’t feel anything but that, and I couldn’t see, and you weren’t touching me or talking to me. It felt like you were… not mad, because I mean you are sometimes very hot when you are in a righteous fury, but… like you didn’t care. Like you were detatched form it, from me, even though you were doing this thing that feels so intimate and important to me but like you didn’t care about it or me not at all and I can’t handle that and I just panicked and my mind went blank and I just couldn’t think, not at all, couldn’t remember the safeword. And then you didn’t stop which isn’t your fault because I’m the one who told you to keep going until I said the word and I didn’t say it but the fact that you didn’t I don’t know somehow magically read my mind just freaked me out worse and worse and I felt like you didn’t care like you were just going to hurt me no matter what and did I do something wrong? Are you mad at me?”

“No, sweetheart. Not at all.” Enjolras kisses his forehead. “I’m so sorry I made you feel that way. Not to mention hurting you so badly, and when you didn’t want it.”

“It’s okay,” Grantaire tries to say, and Enjolras shakes his head.

“It really isn’t.”

“You didn’t mean to.”

“But I did. I did hurt you, and that’s unacceptable. When we do this, when you give me this, you are giving me your trust. Completely. And I misused it.”

“I didn’t—“

“You were begging me to stop and I didn’t so much as pause to ask if you needed me to. I didn’t even talk to you. I—oh, R—“

Enjolras’ voice breaks, and Grantaire curls his head into Enjolras’ neck, trying to offer comfort. “I’m sorry,” Grantaire repeats. “I could’ve… I don’t know what was wrong with me. I just—“

“Look at me,” Enjolras says softly. Grantaire obeys. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be letting my feelings get in the way. You need to be taken care of, and I’m going to do it.”

Grantaire wants to argue with that, but he doesn’t. “Thank you, sir.”

“I love you, R. I’m so sorry I hurt you.”

“I love you too. So much. I’m sorry I didn’t safeword when I… when I needed. I couldn’t—“

“Shh. It’s not your fault. We’ll forget the whole safeword thing. Just say stop and I will, from now on. I promise.”

“Thank you,” Grantaire whispers.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t paying more attention to your reactions. I should’ve realized. And I shouldn’t have let you think you were alone. I was in the room the whole time, I’d never tie you up and leave you, but I shouldn’t have… shouldn’t have tested you like that.”

“It’s okay,” Grantaire tries to assure him.

“It will never happen again,” Enjolras promises fiercely. “I… I am so unbelievably sorry. I will never, ever hurt you this way again.”

“I know,” Grantaire says quietly. “Like I said. I trust you. With everything.”

Enjolras sighs and kisses him gently. “I don’t know what I did to deserve that. To deserve you. But I am grateful.”

“I… Are you sure… you…”

“I’m not mad or disappointed, except with myself. I want you to be happy. I want you to be all right, Grantaire.”

“I am. Now that… I just needed you close. Needed you to hold me, just like this.”

Enjolras’ arms tighten around Grantaire, pulling him in to Enjolras’ side to hold him in place. “I will hold you forever if that’s what you want.”

“Impractical, but appealing.”

“So it is.” Enjolras kisses his forehead. “I want you to feel safe with me. I want you to be safe with me. I’m so grateful to have you here, like this. You’re so… you’re so perfect. The perfect sub, the perfect partner. I love you so much.”

Grantaire blinks back tears. “Thank you. I love you too.”

“I know I’m not always perfect in return—but this isn’t a mistake I’ll make twice. I promise you. I swear.”

“I believe you,” Grantaire assures him. “I trust you.”

“Thank you,” Enjolras replies, holding Grantaire close.


End file.
